


Sinful

by majorbisexualdisaster



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Half-Sibling Incest, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorbisexualdisaster/pseuds/majorbisexualdisaster
Summary: He should have left the minute he realized how deep his sickness ran. It would have been the honourable thing to do and his father had always raised him to be an honourable man. Only, Jon was not an honourable man. If he was, he would not be in love with his brother.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Robb Stark
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34
Collections: Wintersend 2020 & 2021





	Sinful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Queenofcarnage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofcarnage/gifts).



> This is my gift for the 2020 Wintersend.. I hope you enjoy!

It would have been so much easier if it was a conscious choice. If the tendrils of lust and love had not crept into Jon’s mind before he even knew what those words meant. But it was not a conscious choice; it was not even a conscious realization. 

He had always adored Robb. Of course he had, everyone did. Robb was the perfect brother, son, friend, heir. He was gracious and kind and strong. Jon could have continued for ages, but it was easier to sum his brother up in one word: perfect. He always was.

As they grew out of boyhood, Jon could not help but stare at Robb’s chest when he disrobed before jumping into the hot springs. His eyes tracked the swipe of Robb’s tongue at supper, the way he grinned, wide and pure.

There was something wrong with him, Jon knew, for staring at his brother so. It was why he quickly looked into the trees whenever Robb caught him. It was wrong, but he could not quite place his finger on  _ why _ .

His heart would beat so terribly fast in his chest whenever Robb smiled at him. Jon had never been good with words, but his tongue tangled and he could barely stammer out a sentence around his brother anymore. 

It would have been easier simply to avoid him altogether, but Robb got that terrible mournful-puppy look in his blue eyes and Jon couldn’t stay away. It was always the same, day in and day out. 

Sometimes it was as if Robb was consuming him. Jon’s every waking thought seemed to revolve around his brother. He could not escape him, even in sleep. Robb would tunnel his way into Jon’s dreams, a laugh in his eyes and a joke on his lips. 

Then he woke one morning and an unbearable amount of shame washed over him when Jon finally realized why he kept staring at Robb. The evidence blatant in front of him.

Gods, he was  _ in love _ with Robb. With his brother. 

The only possible explanation was his bastard blood. He was born in a night of sin and wantonness and now his half-brother was subject to his perversions. It almost made Jon sick.

Days passed and Jon could not even look any of his family in the eye. He could only imagine what they would think of him if they ever found out. Lady Catelyn would have him shipped to the Wall within the hour and Jon could not blame her.

He should have left the minute he realized how deep his sickness ran. It would have been the honourable thing to do and his father had always raised him to be an honourable man. Only, Jon was not an honourable man. If he was, he would not be in love with his brother. 

So he stayed and fell deeper and deeper into a cavern of self-loathing.

  


The sun had risen an hour ago. Watery beams of light splashed through the window. Jon was wrapped tightly in his furs, unable to move without feeling the sticky mess in his pants. It had felt nice, earlier. Before. Now, he can feel his perversion every time he moves and the shame nearly swallows him whole. 

A knock on his door startled Jon from the depths of disgust. 

“Jon, you’ve missed the morning meal. Training will start soon.” It was Robb. 

With a fake cough and an exaggerated groan, Jon, like the brave man his father had always taught him to be, pretend he was ill. 

His sickness a fortnight later was surely a punishment from the gods. 

He was wracked with chills and his bones were too heavy inside him. Jon fell standing up from his bed, the world tilted and spun around him every time he tried to stand. He somehow managed to make it to the training yard, though Jon had no idea why he was there.

His arms were leaden weights by his side and his head was an endless echo of the clanging of swords. 

“Snow, what is wrong with you?” somebody asked. Their voice was so far away like it was hiding at the bottom of a well.

A man clapped him on his shoulder and sent Jon sprawling into blackness.

  


Robb was by his side when he woke. The perfect brother. His brow was knitted and his mouth was tipped down into a frown. The edges around him were fuzzy, but Jon was certain Robb’s hair was a mess of tangles.

His brother rushed to get the maester as soon as Jon groaned. His tongue was thick and dry in his mouth and he could only answer the maester’s questions with a series of unintelligible grunts. The maester tipped some water into his mouth and Jon drank greedily. 

“You have been asleep for three days, boy,” the maester said. “You need to rest and try to eat some.”

Jon nodded. His head was like an iron weight on his shoulders.

The maester left, leaving the two alone. Robb stared in silence, muscled arms crossed over his chest like some malevolent god. Jon tried to speak, but his words fled and left him a gaping imbecile.

“Mother won’t let any of the little ones near you, in case they catch whatever it is you have,” he finally said. “Arya’s been throwing fits all day.”

Jon smiled weakly. It was so like her. “I’m alright.”

Robb glared, blue fury raging behind his eyes. “You are  _ not _ . Look at yourself, Jon. You can’t walk, the maester had to give you some milk of the poppy to keep you asleep, you have a fever. You are not alright.”

“I hope you didn’t tell Arya that,” Jon muttered. He reached out from under his pile of furs for a piece of bread left on the table. 

The cold air stung his arm and Jon quickly pulled it back into his bubble of heat. His teeth began to chatter too hard to even take a bite of the bread.

“What’s wrong,” Robb asked, panicked. “Do you need the maester?”

Jon shook his head. “I—I'm cold.”

Robb piled furs and blankets over him, he even got a poker and stirred the fire. Still, Jon was surprised his breath didn’t fog in the air. His chest began to ache deep inside, his teeth were still chattering and Jon was sure he was going to die of the cold.

“Move over.”

“Huh?”

Robb flushed. “Move over. I’m going to—you know—body heat.”

Jon’s heart pounded in his chest. He should have refused, only he was quite certain his cock was going to freeze and fall off.

“You—you’re going to—to get sick,” he protested weakly, already moving to the side.

Robb rolled his eyes. “I’ve been in here every day Jon. If I get sick, it is because I’m already sick.”

Robb slipped under the mountain of furs and pressed his chest against Jon’s back, chin resting on the top of Jon’s head. He was so, so warm, Jon almost forgot who was behind him. Almost.

“You’re all sweaty.”

“I’m cold.”

Robb wrapped his arms around him and they drifted into silence, listening to the fading sound of Jon’s chattering teeth. Robb’s body heat seeped into him, warming his entire body, even down to his toes.

Robb began running his and through Jon’s hair, gently tugging out the matted tangles. He was gentle and kind, and Jon found himself imagining a life where they were not brothers. 

In that moment, he hated himself for how much he loved this. He hated that Robb was only being kind but his brain was corrupting his actions into something they were not. 

Like Robb read his mind, the hand in his hair stopped moving. Robb’s chest rumbled against him as he spoke. 

“You said something when—while you were asleep,” he said, an odd edge in his voice.

Jon’s heart dropped in his stomach and an ice-cold dread poured down over him. Robb knew. Robb knew and he was disgusted.

“I—I—” Jon stammered. He tried to get away, but his limbs were a thousand pounds heavier than usual and Robb’s arm was tight around his chest. “It was—I don’t—”

“And I—Jon I have to know if it’s true.”

Jon had already started to cry when Robb flipped him over so that they were lying face to face. His entire body shuddered with sobs because Robb knew how perverted he was, how disgusting he was. Maybe this was his last chance at atonement? Maybe Robb was giving him a way out so that Lady Catelyn and Lord Stark would never have to find out?

“You said you loved me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon choked out. “I—I am so sorry Robb. It’s wrong—it’s so wrong, but I can’t stop. It’s my blood. Please don’t hate me.”

“I could never,” he said, his thumbs wiping away Jon’s tears. “I could never. I just—I needed to know I wasn’t the only one.”

Jon looked at him, truly looked at him. Robb’s eyes were shining and sheepish, a shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It couldn’t be true and yet, there it was, right in front of him.

There were so many things he wanted to say, only Jon did not know where to start. 

Robb must have seen the confusion in his gaze because he bent down and pressed his lips to Jon’s, stealing the words from his mouth. Jon’s body melted into syrupy sweetness, the cold aches vanishing with Robb’s tongue. 

It felt like an eternity had passed when they finally pulled away, foreheads resting against each other’s. 

“Sleep,” Robb said. “You need rest.” 

It was wrong, Jon knew, a vile sin. And yet, as he drifted to sleep wrapped in Robb’s arms, he could not bring himself to denounce his love. 


End file.
